


Movie Nights

by DenialSubroutine



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, or at least my idea of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenialSubroutine/pseuds/DenialSubroutine
Summary: Friday nights were called movie nights for a reason.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63
Collections: The Ignoct Indoor Gift Exchange





	Movie Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amitiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amitiel/gifts).



> This is a gift for absolutelynoct on tumblr, who requested _Something fluffy and shippy. Literally anything that's not sad is fine with me. Cuddles are always great, dancing together is always beautiful. But I'm up for anything beautiful, fluffy, and not sad._
> 
> A special thank you for whatwasdead and [Dark_Ruby_Regalia](/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia) <3 My gratitude for your support is beyond words!

_Back row to the left, a little to the side._

_Slightly out of the place._

_Look beyond the light, where you’d least expect_

_There’s someone special._

_- Poets of The Fall  _

Friday nights were called movie nights for a reason.

It became a tradition dating back to the times when Noctis had a horrendous haircut he believed would make him stand out, Gladio didn’t think the ink on his skin would bring out his personality, Ignis didn’t care about his looks, and Prompto was… well, Prompto. Back then they hadn’t been called movie nights. Just Fridays, when school week was over and the air arguably smelled of freedom and opportunities to be explored.

It started out with Prompto, who on an unremarkable afternoon, invited himself to Noctis’ flat, lured in with video games he couldn’t afford and a promise of free food to sample. Ignis, as fate would have it, had always been there, caring for his charge, while said charge took it for granted. Not an utterance of gratitude so much as crossing Noctis’ mind back then. Ignis would experiment in the kitchen, creating new culinary masterpieces. The heady aromas from his endeavours would soar into the air, fill the room and make their bellies growl in anticipation of a savoury treat. Ignis had always made sure they were satiated before taking his leave for the night.

Until one time Prompto said, “Why don’t you stay, Iggy?” and just like that, he did. Ignis didn’t see much appeal in video games, with musty books and dull reports more up his alley, while Noctis didn’t share either affection. 

And that’s how a movie night had come to life.

Gladio would be the last addition, slowly warming to their established group and working his way in.

Every week they’d gather at Noctis’ flat with Ignis providing nutrition, Gladio in charge of their liquor and Prompto responsible for their mood. Every week one of them would pick a film and the rest would suffer through the consequences of said choice without a complaint. Wine would sparkle in their glasses, snacks would explode with exotic flavours on their tongues and their bellies would split with laughter from Prompto’s jokes and Ignis’ offbeat remarks.

After a week abuzz with classes, training sessions and Council meetings, the four of them deserved a speck of normalcy to sprinkle over their complicated lives. To associate their weird friendship with joy, rather than a habit born out of circumstance.

That’s why movie nights were sacred. Despite a whole other world outside of Noctis’ bubble impelling his attention without delay, the tradition of movie nights wasn’t allowed to change.

Until one day, it did.

Noctis’ flat descended into darkness. Only city lights winked at him through his floor-to-ceiling windows, as far as the eye could reach. Strewn like tiny dots over the horizon, beacons twinkling in the distance, they served as a reminder of blossoming life. A life beyond his fractured illusion. The moon’s sickle set the skies above alight, its shine breaking through a black veil of an infinite expanse of cosmos, encroaching on his thoughts as much as on his refuge. There was no hiding from its might. In the dimness, the outlines of his sparsely arranged furniture were awash with a luminescent blue-ish hue, and if it were any other night, its vibrancy would mesmerise him. Occasional sounds of cars swooshing by filled the silence, at times interrupted by a loud honk from an impatient driver. Noctis took inexplicable comfort from the noise.

He sat on the sofa, his body slack against soft cushions, watching shadows chasing each other on the living-room floor. His socked feet were tucked under him; a numbness in his limbs starting to spread with a burning sting to a point of mild inconvenience, grounding him.

Noctis let out an audible groan, his muscles straining from disuse as he tried to stretch his legs out, one of them crashing into the edge of his glass coffee table. He didn’t possess much control over it. “Fuck,” Noctis hissed on impact under his breath, clutching between his palms what, come morning, would turn out to be an impressive bruise.

A key turning in his front door had Noctis whip his head in that direction, just in time to see it sliding open with a familiar figure stepping in.

The light switch was flipped, bathing everything in a warm fluorescent glow, and Noctis’ hand flew up in front of his face to shield his eyes. “Hey, Specs,” he croaked.

“Why, for the love of Astrals, are you sitting in the dark?”

Blinded, Noctis blinked several times, adjusting his vision. “Why not? I didn’t expect company.”

With Prompto being out of town for the weekend to meet the famous grandfather of his new girlfriend, and Gladio accepting an invitation for a Glaves night-out, Noctis had been under an assumption that Ignis would bail on him as well. Just with a little more subtlety and tact inherent to his persona.

Ignis shut the door with a soft click. “That’s unfortunate, Noct,” he said, and a wave of relief washed over Noctis, alleviating pressure from a boulder lodging under his ribcage.

None the wiser about his ruminations, Ignis strolled straight to the kitchenette, a paper bag full of groceries tucked under one arm. _A very exposed arm_ , Noctis’ mind noted, and he narrowed his eyes. “You’re wearing a tee,” he blurted out.

Undisturbed by his impromptu observation, Ignis exhaled loudly and put the bag on the side of the countertop that wasn’t cluttered by kitchen utensils. “I’m making you a paella,” he said instead as he set himself for a mission of unpacking the contents of said bag.

Noctis’ earlier remark fell on deaf ears; he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or irritated or a pungent concoction of both.

For as long as he could remember, Ignis’ devotion to formal attire had never wavered. A proclamation that _a man’s style is a direct reflection of his intellect and culture_ rang in Noctis’ ears as he took in the white tee. It hugged Ignis’ lean, toned arms, accentuated pronounced pectoral muscles as it disappeared into the waistband of a very close-fitting pant. _Why on Eos did Ignis deprive himself of wearing casual clothes?_ Left to his affairs, with Ignis otherwise occupied, Noctis let his eyes roam, chin propped on an elbow. Ignis brushed a loose strand of hair to the side, apparently obscuring his vision from the task at hand, while his face continued to depict its usual state of deep engrossment. His non-gelled hair strewn across his forehead in an artful mess didn’t escape Noctis’ notice. The whole concept screamed of spontaneity Noctis had never deigned to associate Ignis with. _Who even was this man?_ Someone who Noctis yearned to familiarise himself with, a tiny voice whispered.

Noctis squirmed in his seat as he bit on his tongue, barely managing to stop the words that would betray his half-formed thoughts. Instead, he asked, “What do you mean _me_? Aren’t you staying?”

A green gaze flickered to him for a fraction of a second while Ignis washed rice under a stream of cold water. There was an unnerving note of uncertainty in it. “If you want me to.”

“Of course, I do. When was the last time it’s been just you and me?”

With a noncommittal hum, Ignis set the pot aside, directing his attention to preparing seafood. A moment had passed, and Noctis deliberated whether he’d be politely rejected as he held his breath, when the man said, “Yesterday, in my office.”

Noctis opened his mouth and then closed it again with a snap. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted. The grin Ignis flashed him lit up his whole face, revealing a row of perfect teeth, and Noctis could bet there were crinkles around his eyes too, were he to look closer. The warmth of that smile breached the space between them, seeped into his skin and brought a glow to his heart. The corners of Noctis’ lips curved out of their own accord. Noctis ducked his head shyly, asking himself why seeking Ignis’ proximity was suddenly a thirst that needed to be quenched.

He eased his feet onto the floor, his joints creaking in the process before he padded through the dining area to the kitchenette. With its few plain counters and the same amount of cupboards attached to the farthest wall, a stove and a dishwasher, Ignis’ prominence felt out of place. Like his regal bearing was predestined to something more, something luxurious. Where chandeliers would loom from high ceilings setting ablaze ornate tables, its curves crafted by hand. Not a piece of plastic, hanging on a cord over a dining table, put together in haste. The way Ignis handled the shucking knife like he had his daggers—all in the flick of his wrist—was with unassuming elegance and innate talent. His culinary skills deserved worship and attention, where people would moan in delight and chase flavours on their lips long after their ephemeral essence would become but a ghost. And they would always crave for more.

Noctis was driven by an urge he hadn’t yet comprehended the meaning of, but came to a halt on the other side of the kitchen. A pot of rice was simmering on the stove, while Ignis prepared the oysters, their shells giving in under his fingers with a faint crack. “Do you want my help?” He blurted out before his mouth had a chance to consult his brain.

If anything, the cramped space was too small for two people.

“You can cut bell peppers if you want.”

“Okay.”

Ignis looked at him with raised eyebrows, the implication of which had gotten lost in translation, and at his puzzled expression, added, “No words of disgust, Noct? Bell peppers are vegetables.”

Noctis rolled his eyes as he rounded the kitchenette to where a chopping board was awaiting him. “You know I don’t hate them, right?” He revealed to his own surprise, and a look at Ignis’ face confirmed his suspicions.

“Indeed.”

A distinct vision of his childhood flashed before his eyes, the two of them fighting in the royal kitchens over a piece of lettuce. It had been frivolous, not worth an argument, yet getting under Ignis’ skin was what had driven him then. The memory, though Noctis was at peace with it, should have repulsed him, but as Ignis offered a knife to him, their gazes locked and their fingers brushed the tiniest bit, and something inside him settle instead.

For a very long time, it’d been just the two of them against decorum, against injustices of life in the thrall of a Crown, when a deviation wasn’t welcome, and dreams were a waste of time. In the limited space of his flat with its plainness and almost surgical cleanliness, huddled up close by the counter as they carried on with their individual tasks, the years rushed by in a daze; the differences evaporated in a cloud of dust and trifle. What was left concealed itself in the recesses of Noctis’ mind, but he yearned to uncover it—an essential piece of the puzzle out of his reach. A question nagged him with an unexpected persistence— _why had he allowed them to drift apart?_

“Hey, Specs,” he said as he chopped the paprika away in evenly shaped bits. “Do you actually like cooking?”

Ignis made a sound at the back of his throat that otherwise didn’t betray his reaction. “I do now. But I must confess, I learned the craft because of you. You had a tendency to harass kitchen staff with your volatile caprices, and, you could say, I saw it as my duty to tend to your whims.”

“I’ve been an ungrateful brat, haven’t I?”

“At times, yes. Astrals, you used to drive me crazy.” A shoulder nudged against him and it had Noctis swaying on his feet to regain balance, while Ignis leant in closer, as if sharing a secret. “You were also so much more.” 

A whiff of Ignis’ cologne tickled his nose, and Noctis’ eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He felt himself blush at the open flattery, heat crawling its way up to the surface against his will. The sincerity of the statement was too much to process, and yet, he revelled in its aftertaste.

Done with his chopping task, he dumped the cut-up pieces into a wok at Ignis’ silent instructions, where oil was already sizzling, impatient. A bottle of red caught Noctis’ attention then, which hadn’t been there before—an expensive brand way out of their league, far nicer than any discount liquor Gladio used to bring along. He didn’t have a predilection towards nice things, not up until that moment. With a sideways glance at Ignis, Noctis retrieved two glasses from the upper cupboard before uncorking the bottle. He then poured an equal amount each, handing one to Ignis, its floral notes dominant in the air when Noctis inhaled the bouquet.

Ignis took a sip, humming in appreciation. “What do _you_ want from life, Noct?” He asked out of the blue as he set himself to stir the ingredients.

Pulled out of his contemplation, Noctis had to pursue a particular trail of thought to catch the drift.

When he had, a snort bubbled up from his throat, and he almost sputtered the wine. “Does it really matter?” A truth he had accepted long ago. Its harshness didn’t affect him as it once had, he thought as he stood there in the safety of his flat, tracing patterns on a marble-like surface with a mindless finger. “My life’s a script where I only need to memorise one role.”

“Nonsense.” The confidence Ignis’ voice emanated, the swiftness of his response had Noctis’ gaze shoot up to meet his. “You will always be a King. But you’re also Noct. A boy who once said that _the vastness of the skies just for the stars would be disappointing_. I recall that same boy sneaking a homeless kitten into his room, leaving everyone none the wiser. When I look at you,” he paused, and Noctis’ breath left him in one swift motion. “I see a man with a heart as immense as the skies above, a will to bend rules for a higher purpose and—”

“Specs…” Noctis pleaded. Unaware of what that plea signified, he took a step closer, shrinking the microscopic space between them.

“—Greatness shouldn’t be confined.”

Noctis swallowed. “You really remember me saying that?”

“Of course I do.” A wooden spoon Ignis’d been holding fell onto the counter with a dull clatter, and he surged forward to join him halfway. Until they almost collided, caught somewhere between desperation and inevitability, just shy of an embrace, hesitant on both their parts. 

Noctis let his forehead fall onto Ignis’ chest. “I don’t deserve praise,” he whispered, his voice muffled by Ignis’ shirt as he buried his flaming face. His arms wound up around Ignis’ narrow waist, hands twisted in the cotton of his improper white tee.

“You deserve the world,” Ignis said as he gave the side of Noctis’ head a kiss. “Time’s unforgiving of vacillation, nor does it give a reprieve. So seize it, Noct, while you can.” Two gloveless fingers got hold of Noctis’ chin, luring him out of his hideout, while Ignis’ other arm pulled him closer by his midriff. Noctis obeyed. “What prompted such a lack of confidence?”

“Nothing...” He shrugged. “Everything. Gladio is in Crownsguard now. Prompto found a girlfriend. You’re stuck at the Citadel more often than not, and I’m stuck somewhere in the space-time continuum, while life around me is rushing by.”

Ignis reached out and brushed Noctis’ overgrown fringe from his face, a gesture so intimate it made Noctis hold his breath, afraid to disrupt a moment so fragile it could have been a figment of his imagination. “I know how much movie nights mean to you,” Ignis said, his voice like a lullaby pulling him under until a thumb swept across Noctis’ cheek, and Noctis jolted awake. 

The ground was being yanked from under his feet, or so it seemed, but Ignis’ presence grounded him like an anchor that kept his vessel from being swallowed by the turbulent waters.

An acrid smell wafted in the air, slapped all of his jumbled senses back into place, making Noctis aware of the predicament and the perils of a volatile sea. “Something’s burning,” he found himself saying.

“Drat.”

Ignis extricated himself from the circle of Noctis' arms to tend to the ruined supper. The loss of his warmth had a tangible, physical aspect to it. Its essence, captured for a fleeting moment, left Noctis yearning for more.

“I’m not hungry, Ignis, just leave it,” he encouraged, as he reflected back on Ignis’ words of the world within his reach, watching the man’s attempts at salvaging vegetables he couldn’t care less about.

Resigned to his fate, Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have never burnt anything.”

“It only makes you human.”

Noctis’ fingers, having a life of their own, found their way onto Ignis’ body again, the palms of his hands flat across Ignis’ stomach, sensing the muscles tense under the fabric. Something akin to lightning surged along Noctis’ nerve endings, as his body inched closer, pulled by some undiscovered gravitational force. A hitch in Ignis’ breathing when they melted, felt in his whole frame more than heard, sent an unfamiliar thrill down his spine. Awakened something feral, something animalistic. Hidden from prying eyes, with a stench of burned oil swirling about, trapped between kitchen appliances to a sound of water tapping against the steel of the sink, Noctis’ imperfect world turned upside down. He could finally see it in multicoloured light. Emboldened by it, led by a stray urge he hadn’t known resided inside him, Noctis nuzzled into Ignis’ neck where the pale skin met the collar of his tee. 

“What are you doing, Noct?” Ignis’s voice was no more than a whisper, and his hands, previously resting on Noctis’ hips, gripped him in a vice. They didn’t push him away, nor did they attempt to pull him closer, as if awaiting a verdict upon their fate.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, his mind repeating _please say no_ , in prayer to heavens unknown.

With no immediate answer, except for Ignis’ throat bobbing with an inaudible swallow, Noctis pulled back just enough to unveil it by himself. The light played in the lenses of Ignis’ glasses, a kaleidoscope of shapes and images glowing on its surface, as he tilted his head to look down at Noctis. Ignis’ features, as Noctis’ eyes skimmed across his face in a wild search for clues, revealed no secrets. There was a kind of painful concentration in the way he stood almost motionless, like a statue, a tense line to his back, his fingers digging into Noctis’ flesh.

Perhaps having discovered a truth of his own, at last, Ignis said, “No” and on his breath, Noctis could detect a faint aroma of the wine they had tasted before. Intoxicating in its nature, it called out to him, inviting. Too weak to resist, he complied.

Noctis let his lips graze against that same spot where blood pulsed through a vein in a frenzy. It was as much out of selfishness as out of curiosity, wondering how far Ignis would let him push. And when Ignis went limp in his arms, Noctis pressed his lips again, more firmly this time, a gesture filled with intent. He let his hand snake around Ignis’ neck as he peppered a trail of featherlight kisses. Each and every one like the flutter of butterfly wings up Ignis’ throat, along his sharp jawline, stopping a kiss away from his mouth, balancing on the precipice.

“Ignis?” The name hung in the air like a half-promise, half-plea for permission. 

“Yes,” Ignis breathed out against Noctis’ lips. 

The familiarity of his velvety voice called to his heightened senses, as it always had. He was but a vigilant victim of its magnetism. 

Noctis squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to even out his breathing. Get a grip on a wild bird trying to break free from his chest, when a hand landed on the small of his back. A touch so light yet overwhelming, the heat of his flesh had Noctis on a verge of catching fire and burning alive.

It was Ignis who gave him the final push off the edge, when he murmured, “Noct,” and Noctis plummeted out of the clouds all the way down.

Falling felt like fear and exhilaration intertwined together, and Noctis couldn’t contain the force set free from their collision. He surged forward in a graceless motion to capture Ignis’ lips with his own. It was no surprise when Ignis met him halfway, and they both moaned into the kiss. The dizziness caught him off guard, made him stagger. Without preamble, unwilling to sever that delicious connection of tingling lips and mingled breaths, the hand not tangled in the fine hairs of Ignis’ nape nudged the man in the chest. Ignis’ back hit the edge of the kitchen counter and Noctis followed eagerly, chasing the warmth with a foreign to him hunger. As if his soul would freeze to its core without Ignis’ touch. 

“Is this okay, Specs?” Noctis asked between kisses, his voice a husky timbre laced with unhidden desire. Although the two were almost past the point of caring, Noctis needed to know. Ignis’ panting was all the response he got. He felt a delightful shiver running through Ignis’ body before it flowed into Noctis’ own. It made his belly ache with something that surpassed a pure sense of physiological demand.

Ignis’ hands slid under Noctis’ tee, callused fingers caressing every inch they could touch. A half-formed groan ghosted over Noctis’ cheek and his hips bucked of their own accord. The remnants of his rationality abandoned him the moment his thigh came into contact with Ignis’ hardness, similar to his own. Experimentally, Noctis moved his hips, on purpose this time around, causing Ignis to gasp. “Noct, wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Noctis leant back, brows furrowed in concern. 

Dark eyes peered at him with hesitation, lips swollen and bitten, begging to be ravished to a point of no return. “If we do this, it will change everything. Forever.”

“I know.”

Noctis dived in again, but a hand on his chest stopped him midway. With mussed-up hair from Noctis’ fingers running all through it and cheeks that their mutual desire had tinged in pink—Ignis was a sight for sore eyes. _Why in the Astrals’ name had they wasted years?_ Drinking it in, he kissed the tip of Ignis nose before plucking his askew glasses to put them out of harm’s way, while the man kept staring at him, apprehensive. “What is it, Specs?” 

“I mean it. There’s no going back from this, Noct.”

“I fucking hope not,” he said, leaving a peck on the corner of Ignis’ mouth.

~*~

In a week, the four of them would be back together in front of a TV screen in Noctis’ living-room, sprawled over a sofa with nothing ostensibly amiss. Only Noctis would squirm in his seat for the first half of the movie, throwing furtive glances from one of his friends to the next. Restless, at last, he would take a deep breath and work up the courage to cuddle against Ignis’ side, wrapping his arms around a familiar waist with only a slight tremble in his limbs. Ignis, undeterred, would pull him flush against his body, sneaking a kiss to the hollow of his temple to Noctis’ pleasant surprise. Gladio would mutter something around the lines of _‘figures’_ , and Prompto, with a meaningful glare, would nudge the man in the ribs to shut him up. 

Otherwise, nothing would change, and life would go on, as usual, engulfing Noctis in its tumultuous flow of royal affairs. Only the wine in his glass would taste more exquisite, the smile on his face would feel more genuine, and the future would hold a sliver of hope reflecting in an emerald gaze.

~*~

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> _10 something years later_
> 
> “Stop fidgeting, Your Majesty, if you don’t want me to ruin your cravat.”
> 
> “Hurry up, Prompto. At the rate you’re going, Ignis will change his mind.”
> 
> “Seriously, Noct?”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Dude had waited ten years. You doubt he’ll wait another ten minutes to marry the love of his life?”


End file.
